


The Lion's Den

by trancer



Category: Lost, Oz (TV)
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Plot What Plot, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-31
Updated: 2006-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-21 07:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/222367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trancer/pseuds/trancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/222345">The Con</a>. Sawyer finds himself under the protection of Keller.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lion's Den

Chris Keller stumbled blindly out of the bar. An old metal tune stuck on permanent loop in his head. All things considered, tonight was a good night. His belly full of beer and brauts, spirits high from his team winning the game. He’d never been one for sports; his team was nothing more than whoever won whatever he'd bet on. And the 500 hundred, now 420, felt good in his pocket.

He turned a corner into an alley that looked like every other alley in this particular part of the neighborhood - dark, smelly, trash piling in the corners like miniature hillsides while dark, furry things rummaged about. It was the New York he knew. The one he loved. He found a nice dark corner next to a dumpster that smelled like old socks and rotten eggs. Unzipped his jeans to relieve himself.

"It's like they say,” he mumbled to himself, “You don't buy beer, you rent it."

Keller shook himself off, tucking his most prized possession back into his jeans when something caught his attention. Not really a thing because he knew exactly what it was - the sound of fist meeting flesh. He smiled to himself, a fight might be the perfect topper of the evening.

He turned the corner, moving towards the noise. Four males surrounded a fifth like a pack of hungry wolves. Each taking their turns putting a beating on the poor bastard trapped between them. A flurry of fists, and kicks, and epithets landed violently on the man.

Keller stood in the shadows, watching. His knuckles, his muscles ached from the smell of violence, the primal desire to assert ones physicality over, and against, another.

"You like that?" the smallest of the four growled before delivering a hard kick to the man's ribs. "You like that, you fuckin' faggot?"

It wasn't the words that stirred something within Keller, or the violence, or the scent of anger and hatred in the air. Maybe, it was a combination of them all. He didn't particularly believe in fair fights, honor. You were born alone, and you died alone. All that mattered was how you survived. If kicking the shit out of some poor bastard meant you walked out on your own two feet, Keller figured, who was he to judge.

But, he also believed in taking care of your own, protecting what was yours. That's what caused his hands to curl into fists, made him grab the thick metal pipe resting next to his foot.

He recognized the soft sandy brown hair. The checkered shirt and cowboy boots. More than anything, he recognized the lips. He never forgot a good set of lips. Lips he'd fantasized about more than he cared to admit. And, as he gripped the pipe in his hand, felt the rage coursing through his system like liquid lightening, he only had one thought -

Mine.

The first guy went down hard. The pipe whipped through the air, whacking against the back of his skull with a sick crack. The others gaped at Keller. Gaping gave him time, and another went down as the pipe swung back on its arc, smashing against his jaw, shattering it. He went down screaming, holding his ruined face. It was all the other two needed. They both moved in tandem, rushing at Keller like linebackers. Caught him under the ribs, the three cascading backwards. Until they slammed against a wall.

They were scrappers. Guys used to fights in bars and back alley's. Keller was a killer. He knew how to hurt, to main, to kill. His fists became coiled steel, his knees cement, his feet booted bricks. They didn't stand a chance.

The fight over, Keller rose to his feet. Inhaled deeply, letting the night air cool his overheated lungs. Until the burn inside ebbed to a dull flame. Bodies scattered about him like road kill, unconscious, broken, or screaming.

The smallest of the four began to crawl away, choking sobs, the sobs of a man crawling from death. Keller pulled off his jacket, let it fall to the ground. He walked towards the crawling man.

"Hey," he tapped the man's retreating leg, a whimpering mewl escaping his throat. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you."

He ignored him, continued crawling on the ground. Keller kicked his leg again, this time a little harder. "Hey faggot," his voice a low growl. The dull embers flared within him, drew upon a different kind of heat. He stepped over the man until his feet were on either side of his legs. "You wanna know what a faggot is?" Lips curled into a feral smile, eyes gazing down at the crawling, writhing form, almost sensually, beneath him as his hands moved towards the zipper of his jeans. "I'll show you what a faggot is."

**

Even before the first flicker of consciousness, Sawyer knew he was in pain. It didn't stop him from jerking awake, eyes snapping open, screaming at the harsh glare of light, chest protesting loudly as he sat up.

He darted his eyes about, trying to get his bearing. Adrenaline pumped through the pain, preparing himself for fight or flight. It was an apartment, more like a joke of a studio. Brown paneling on the walls, an old yellow refrigerator sat in the corner of the tiniest of kitchens. A door led to what, he assumed, was the bathroom.

To his right, and several beats later, Sawyer noticed the man sitting next to the bed. Keller sat on an old beat up lounger. The leather cracked and worn, parts of it held together with duct tape. His bare feet propped up on a milk crate, an open pizza carton on his lap, watching an even more beat up black & white television.

"How the Hell did I get here?" Sawyer grumbled, trying his best to sound hard ass even as his stomach grumbled at the scent of pizza filling his nose, while his mouth salivated eagerly at the prospect of food.

Keller kept his eyes glued on the television set. His left hand slid over the side of the armrest, reappearing moments later with a beer bottle. He casually twisted the cap off, taking a long pull while his eyes turned towards Sawyer. He pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "How do you think?"

"And my clothes?" He'd finally taken notice of what he was wearing. Or, more to the point, what he wasn't wearing. Which was nothing but the sheet draped over his torso.

"They're on the floor," Keller pointed with the hand holding the beer. "I got most of the blood out."

Sawyer took a tentative glance, not wanting to take his eyes off the man sitting next to the bed. Keller wore nothing more than faded jeans, looking completely passive and relaxed as he sat in the lounger, almost disinterested in the man sitting on his bed. "You hungry?" Keller lifted the pizza box with his free hand, moving it towards Sawyer, practically waving it under Sawyer's nose.

His hands moved faster than his conscious, the one warning him about Keller with platitudes regarding snakes and snake pits. Instead, he let his stomach guide his actions, wolfing the pizza down hungrily, even as his jaw ached with every bite. He closed his eyes, moaning softly.

Keller's eyes drifted towards Sawyer. He watched while the man chewed hungrily, eyes closed, a deep rumbling moan in his throat. "Any particular reason you were hustling last night? Didn't you have some kinda business with Falcone?"

Sawyer's eyes snapped open, focusing on Keller in a heated glare. "I did until someone made me late," he spoke with a mouth half full of food. "And ruined my best clothes."

"Doesn't explain why you were turning tricks?"

"I was trying to get some bus money so I could get the Hell outta this town."

"How much?"

"Ten bucks for a handjob, twenty for a blowjob."

Keller smiled a shark toothed grin. Sawyer felt a shiver run down his spine. "I meant for the bus ticket?"

Sawyer broke the eye contact. Felt his cheeks blushing, angry at his own naïve stupidity. "68 dollars."

"How much do you have?"

"I had $24 until I last night."

Keller pulled the pizza box from his lap. He set in on the milk crate before rising to his feet. One hand holding the waist of his jeans while the other fished deep into a pocket. He pulled out several large bills, holding them in his fingers. "How'd you like to make some cash?" he asked in a wide predatory grin.

Sawyer swallowed hard, his eyes glued to the bills in Keller's fingers. He'd done worse things for money, much, much worse. It would be easy to walk away. But, he knew he'd be walking out just as destitute as the moment Keller carried him in. He scooted across the mattress, until his knees met the floor and he knelt between Keller's legs. He gazed up to see Keller staring down at him, the same predatory smile on his face, the money still held in his fingers.

Sawyer placed his hands on Keller's waist, began to quickly undo the buttons on the man's jeans. He'd lied before. Didn't mention the hundred bucks stored away in a bus station locker or how he'd come about the money. That he'd been a little too particular in his tricks, searching for lean, muscular men with black hair and pale blue eyes, hoping to run into the man who'd duped him days earlier.

Instead, Sawyer sucked. Moaned throatily as he hungrily engulfed the warm flesh. Pumped his mouth until it was hard and stiff in his mouth. Until he felt the strong fingers threading in his hair, and the muscular torso thrusting eagerly towards his face. Until he felt Keller, hot, sticky and wet splashing against the back of his throat. He'd learned a lot in the past couple days. Mainly, he learned how not to gag.

Leisurely, he pulled his mouth away. Gazed up at Keller almost triumphantly. Keller smiled down at him, his hand still in Sawyer's hair, massaging his scalp. "That was nice," he smiled. "But, I never said you had to suck me for the money."

Sawyer jolted upright, face twisting in anger. He took a wild swing at Keller, his muscles screaming as he did. Keller stepped out of the swing, wrapped his arms around Sawyer, pushing the two of them onto the bed.

Sawyer screamed, yelled, fought and bucked with his body. Keller pinned him to the mattress, the predatory smile on his face as he laughed almost playfully at the man beneath him. Like a cat with a new toy, allowed Sawyer to bat weakly at him. Then, he grabbed Sawyer's arms by the wrists, pressed down with his weight. Gazed down at the angry blue eyes even as he felt Sawyer's erection pressed against his stomach.

He laughed as he pressed his lips to Sawyer's, the man beneath him acquiescing almost immediately. Allowed Keller to penetrate his mouth with the demanding tongue. He tasted Sawyer, consumed him with deep, long, hungry kisses.

Moved his lips down, a harsh, forceful exploration of Sawyer's skin. Consumed him like starving man offered a feast of flesh. Nipped along Sawyer's pulse point. Moved down the line of his collarbone. Raked his teeth, tongue and lips over the smooth chiseled curves of chest and then stomach, left trails of saliva and reddened skin in his wake. Then lower.

Sawyer gasped as he felt Keller's lips wrapping around his cock. A low whimpering moan rumbled deep in his chest. Keller wasn't smooth, or particularly graceful. He was forceful, hurried. His teeth grazed across the sensitive skin in a grating manner that was both pleasure and pain. Sawyer slammed his eyes closed, back bowing, hips thrusting chaotically, wanting deeper in that wet, warm mouth and as far away as possible. It was like his cock had been jammed into a wet, sucking, light socket, hot and electric.

He could feel the tension building within him. There was no ebb or flow, no sensual technique meant to prolong the moment. Keller took him to the edge quickly, like a stock car at the track, jammed the pedal down until he'd reached top speed. And then -

Keller pulled away.

Sawyer's eyes snapped open in tandem with the exasperated gasp choking from his throat.

Keller sat up on his knees, between Sawyer's legs. As quickly as his mouth had pounced on Sawyer's cock, he'd done the same with his hand. Wrapped it firmly, tightly around the stiff flesh, began pumping furiously, as if he would rip it off. Sawyer moaned painfully. Keller was squeezing him tight, too tight.

"How old are you, boy?" Keller growled.

Sawyer ran both hands over his scalp, unsure what to do with his hands. His thoughts clouded, almost lethargic compared to the swelling need taking over his body. He was about to have the biggest orgasm of his life and the man wanted to play twenty questions? "Twenty-five," he gasped, tongue licking his lips. Suddenly, the jerking motion stopped, followed by a vice-like squeeze. Sawyer yelped in pain, and frustration.

"I said - how old, boy?"

"Twenty!" he practically screamed. "I'm twenty."

"Mmmm," Keller purred. Gazing longingly at the no longer a boy but not quite a man, wondering what exactly he was going to do. His tongue gently licked his lips and Sawyer couldn't hold back anymore. His hips bucked chaotically, body convulsing as the well within him burst open. Literally. Hips jerking, forcing his cock into the tight grip wrapped around him. Felt his seed splashing wetly on his chest. Until he collapsed bonelessly onto the mattress, chest heaving in ragged heavy pants.

Keller sniffed derisively. He wiped his hand on Sawyer's chest before rising from the bed and retaking his place on the lounger. "You stink. Go take a shower."

Sawyer rose onto his elbows, a sort of expectant expression on his face. Usually a little more happened after the orgasm part. Now, he wasn't quite sure, no longer a novice but not quite an expert in games regarding sex. Girls, he understood. He figured guys would be easier seeing as how he was one. But, they didn't have guys like Keller back where he came from. Guys who kept him off balance. Guys he wanted nothing to do with but, like they were made of some giant magnet, he couldn’t stay away from.

Sawyer stood up. Stared down at the man reclining on the bed. Keller was already asleep, one hand tucked under his head, the other casually tucked into the open zipper of his jeans. Like everything revolving around Keller, Sawyer was of two minds. One wanted nothing more than to crawl back onto the bed, lick the perfectly sculpted chest, replace the hand tucked in his jeans with his mouth. The other wanted to run. Get as far away as possible from the man who looked at him, treated him, like meat. Like a cheap toy to be played with then tossed aside. Except, Sawyer didn’t know what being tossed aside meant to a man like Keller, and it scared the Hell out of him.

Instead, Sawyer chose to take a shower. He did stink. He cleaned himself, returned to the tiny living space. He pulled on his boxers. Wrapping himself in a thin sheet discarded on the floor, Sawyer sat in the lone creaky leather chair. His eyes fixated upon Keller, like a wary mouse in a lion’s den, while Keller drifted off to sleep.

END 


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